The Terror

48 GOODSIR

From the private diary of Dr. Harry D. S. Goodsir:

Tuesday, 18 July, 1848 -

Nine days ago, when our Captain sent Lieutenant Little and eight Men ahead in a Whaleboat through the Lead in the Ice with orders to Return in 4 Hours, the rest of us Slept the best we could for a Pitiful Remnant of those 4 Hours. We spent more than 2 Hours loading the Sledges onto the Boats and then, taking no Time to unpack Tents, we attempted to sleep in our Reindeer Skin and Blanket bags atop waterproof tarps set down on the Ice next to the Boats themselves. The days of the Midnight Sun were past now in early July and we slept – or Tried to Sleep – through the few Hours of near Darkness. We were very tired.

After the apportioned 4 Hours were up, First Mate Des Voeux woke the men, but there was no Sign of Lieutenant Little. The Captain allowed most to return to Sleep.

Two hours later, All were Wakened, and I tried to lend a Hand as best I could – following the orders of Second Mate Couch as the Boats were made ready to Launch. (As a Surgeon, of course, I always have some Fear of injuring my Hands, although it is True that so far on this Voyage they have Suffered every Insult short of Serious Frostbite and Self-Amputation.)

So it was that 7 Hours after Lieutenant Little, James Reid, Harry Peglar, and the six seamen had set off on their Reconnaissance, 80 of us on the ice prepared our own boats to follow. Due to movement of the Ice and lowering temperatures, the Lead had narrowed somewhat during the few hours of Darkness and few more hours of Sleep, and getting the nine Boats placed properly and launched correctly took some Skill. Eventually all of the boats -the 3 whaleboats with Captain Crozier’s in the lead (Second Mate Couch’s in second position with me aboard it) and then the 4 cutters (commanded, respectively, by Second Mate Robert Thomas, Bosun John Lane, Bosun’s Mate Thomas Johnson, and Second Lieutenant George Hodgson), followed by the two pinnaces under the command of Bosun’s Mate Samuel Brown and First Mate Charles Des Voeux (Des Voeux was third in command of our overall Expedition now behind Captain Crozier and Lieutenant Little and thus assigned the Responsibility of bringing up the rear).

The weather had grown colder and there was Some light Snow falling, but by and large the Fog had lifted to become a Low-Hanging layer of Clouds moving only a Hundred Feet or so above the ice. While this allowed us to see much farther than in the fog of the previous Day, the effect was oppressive, as if all our Movements were taking place in some strange Ballroom set in a deserted Arctic Mansion with a shattered White Marble Floor underfoot and a Low Grey Ceiling with trompe l’oeil clouds just above us.

At the moment the 9th and Final Boat was shoved into the water and its Crew clambered in, there was a faint and Sad Attempt at a hurrah from the men since it was the first time that most of these Deep Water Sailors had been afloat in almost 2 Years, but the Cheer died aborning. Concern about Lieutenant Little’s Crew’s Fate was too great to allow for any Sincere hurrahing.

For the first Hour and a half, the only sounds were the Groaning of the Working Ice around us and the occasional Answering Groans of the Men Working at the oars. But seated near the front of the second boat as I was, sitting on the Thwart behind where Mr. Couch stood at the Bow, knowing that I was Superfluous to all Locomotive Purposes, as much Dead Weight as the poor comotose-but-still-breathing David Leys – whom the men had been hauling in one of the pinnaces without Complaint now for more than 3 Months and whom my new aide, former steward John Bridgens, duly fed and cleansed of his own Filth every Evening in the medical tent we shared as if he was caring for a Beloved but Paralysed Grandfather (ironic since Bridgens was in his early 60’s and comatose Leys was only 40) – my position thus situated allowed me to hear Whispered Conversation between the Men at the Oars.

Little and the Others must have got themselves Lost, whispered a seaman named Coombs.

There ain’t no way that Lieutenant Edward Little got himself Lost, shot back Charles Best. He may be Stuck, but not Lost.

Stuck in what? whispered Robert Ferrier at an adjoining Oar. This Lead’s open Now. It was open Yesterday.

Maybe Lieutenant Little and Mr. Reid found the way Open Ahead of them all the way to Back’s River and just raised their Sail and went on, whispered Tom McConvey from one Row back. They’re there already is my guess… eating Salmon that jumped into their boat and Trading beads for Blubber with the Natives.

No one said anything to this unlikely Suggestion. The mention of the Esquimaux had caused Quiet Consternation since the massacre of Lieutenant Irving and 8 of the Savages on 24 April last. I believe that most of the Men, however desperate for Salvation or Rescue from any Source, Feared rather than Hoped for another contact with the local Native People. Revenge, Some natural philosophers suggest and Sailors endorse, is one of the most Universal of human motivations.

Two and a half hours after leaving our campsite of the Previous Night, Captain Crozier’s whaleboat broke out of the Narrow Lead into an Open Stretch of water. Men in the lead boat and my own boat let out happy shouts. As if left behind to Point the Way, a tall black ship’s pike stood Upright, embedded in the Snow and Ice at the exit from this Lead. The Night’s snow and freezing drizzle had painted the northwest side of the pike White.

These shouts also died Aborning as our Close Line of Boats pulled out into Open Water.

The water was Red here.

On shelves of ice to the Left and the Right of the Lead Opening, crimson streaks of what could only be Blood were smeared on the flat ice and down the Vertical Planes of the ice edges. The Sight sent a Shiver through me and I could see other men reacting with Open Mouths.

Easy now, men, muttered Mr. Couch from the bow of our Boat. This is just the sign of seals caught by the White Bears; we’ve seen such Seal Gore before in the Summers.

Captain Crozier in the lead boat was saying Similar Things to his Seamen.

A minute later we knew that these Crimson signs of Carnage were not the Residue of Seals butchered by White Bears.

Oh, Christ! exclaimed Coombs at his oar. All the men quit rowing. The Three whaleboats, Four cutters, and Two pinnaces floated into a sort of circle in the choppy red-tinted water.

The bow of Lieutenant Little’s whaleboat rose vertically from the Sea. Its Name (one of the 5 boat Names not changed after Captain Crozier’s Leviathan sermon in May) - The Lady J. Franklin - was clearly Visible in black Paint. The boat had been Broken Apart about 4 feet Back from the bow so that only this Forward Section – the ragged End of shattered thwarts and splintered Hull just visible beneath the surface of the Dark and Icy Water – floated there.

The men began Gathering other Flotsam as our 9 remaining Boats fanned out and rowed Slowly forward in a line: an Oar, more bits of Shattered Wood from gunwales and stern, a Steering Sweep, a Welsh wig, a bag that once held cartridges, a mitten, a bit of Waistcoat.

When Seaman Ferrier used a boat hook to pull in what looked to be a floating bit of Blue Peacoat, he suddenly cried out in Horror and almost dropped the long gaff.

A man’s body floated there, his Headless Corpse still Garbed in sodden blue Wool, his Arms and Legs hanging down in the black water. The neck was a mere bit of severed Stump. His fingers, perhaps swollen by death and the cold water but looking strangely shortened into broad Stubs, seemed to move in the Currents, rising and falling on the Slight Swell like White Worms wriggling. It was almost as if, Voiceless, the Body was trying to tell us something via Sign Language.

I helped Ferrier and McConvey pull the Remains aboard. Fish or some Aquatic Predator had been nibbling at the Hands – the fingers were gone to the Second Joint – but the Extreme Cold had delayed the bloating and decomposition Processes.

Captain Crozier brought his whaleboat around until its bow was touching our side.

Who is it? muttered a seaman.

It’s ’arry Peglar, cried another. I recognize the peajacket.

Harry Peglar didn’t Wear no green Waistcoat, interjected another.

Sammy Crispe did! exclaimed a 4^th Seaman.

Silence! bellowed Captain Crozier. Dr. Goodsir, be so Good as to turn out our unfortunate Shipmate’s pockets.

I did so. From the large pocket of the Wet Waistcoat, I pulled an almost-Empty tobacco Pouch tooled in red leather.

Ah, shite! said Thomas Tadman, sitting next to Robert Ferrier on my Boat. It’s poor Mr. Reid.

And so it was. All the men then remembered that the Ice Master had been Wearing only his Peacoat and Green Waistcoat the previous evening, and All of Us had seen him refill his Pipe a thousand times from that faded red-leather pouch.

We looked to Captain Crozier as if he could explain what had Happened to our Shipmates, although in our Souls, we all knew.

Secure Mr. Reid’s body under that Boat Cover, ordered the Captain. We’ll search the area to see if there are any Survivors. Do not row or drift out of sight or shouting range.

Once again, the boats fanned out. Mr. Couch brought our boat back to the ice near the Inlet Opening, and we Rowed Slowly along the icy Shelf that rose about 4 Feet above the open water’s Edge. We stopped at each smear of Blood on the surface of the Floe and on the Vertical Face, but there were no more bodies.

Oh, damn, moaned 30-year-old Francis Pocock from his place at the Sweep in the Stern of our Boat. You can see the bloody grooves of the man’s Fingers and Nails in the Snow. The Thing must’ve dragged him backwards into the Water.

Batten down your Gob on such Talk! called Mr. Couch. Holding his long pike easily in one hand like a True Whaleboat’s Harpoon, he had one Booted Foot up on the whaleboat’s Bow as he glowered back at the rowers. The men fell silent.

There were three such Bloody Spots on the ice at this Nor’west End of the Open Water.The third One showed where Someone had been Eaten some 10 Feet back from the Edge of the ice. A few leg bones remained, as did some gnawed Ribs, a Torn Integument that might be Human Skin, and some Strips of Torn Cloth, but no skull or identifiable features.

Put me on the ice, Mr. Couch, I said, and I shall Examine the Remains.

I did so. Had this been ashore almost anywhere in the World but Here, flies would have been buzzing around the Red Meat and Muscle left behind, not to mention the strands of Entrails looking like a Gopher’s Burrowing Ridge beneath the thin Covering of last night’s Snow, but here there was only the Silence and the soft Wind from the northwest and the Groaning of the Ice.

I called back to the Boat – the seamen were averting their Faces – and Confirmed that no identification was possible. Even the Few Remnants of Torn Clothing could give no clue. There was no Head, no Boots, no Hands, no Legs, not even a Torso other than the heavily gnawed Ribs, a Sinewed bit of Spine, and half a Pelvis.

Stay as you are, Mr. Goodsir, called Couch. I’m sending Mark and Tadman to you with an emptied shot bag in which to put the poor bugger’s remains. Captain Crozier’ll be wanting to give them a burial.

It was Grim work, but done quickly. In the end, I directed the two Grimacing Seamen to pack away only the Rib cage and bit of Pelvis into the shot-bag Burial Shroud. The Vertebrae had frozen into the Floe Ice, and the other remnants were too Grisly to bother about.

We had just shoved off from the ice and were Exploring along the South rim of the Open Water when there came a shout from the North.

Man found! some Seaman cried. And again, Man found!

I believe that we all could feel our Hearts Pounding as Coombs, McConvey, Ferrier and Tadman, and Mark and Johns pulled hard, and Francis Pocock steered us to a cricket-pitch-sized patch of floating ice that had drifted to the center of these Several Hundred Acres of Open Water amid the Frozen Floes. We all wanted – we all needed – to find someone Alive from Lieutenant Little’s boat.

It was not to be.

Captain Crozier was already on the Ice and called me forward to the Body lying there. I Confess that I felt slightly Put Upon, as if even the Captain was unable to Certify Death unless I was forced to Inspect yet another Undeniably Dead Corpse. I was very Tired.

It was Harry Peglar lying there almost naked – his few remaining Clothes mere Underthings – Curled up on the Ice, Knees Raised almost to his Chin, Legs crossed at the Ankle as if his last energy had been spent trying to keep warm by pressing his body Tighter and Tighter, his Hands tucked under his Arms while he Hugged himself in what must have been an End in Violent Shivers.

His blue eyes were open and frozen. His flesh was also Blue and as Hard to the Touch as Carrera Marble.

He must’ve swum to the Floe, managed to Climb up, and froze to death here, softly suggested Mr. Des Voeux. The Thing from the Ice didn’t catch or maul Harry.

Captain Crozier only nodded. I knew that the Captain had liked and much depended upon Harry Peglar. I also liked the Foretop Captain. Most of the men did.

Then I saw what Crozier was looking at. All around the Ice Floe in the recent snow – especially around the Corpse of Harry Peglar – were huge footprints, rather like a White Bear’s with claws visibly indicated, only easily Three or Four times Larger than any white bear’s paw prints.

The thing had Circled Harry many times. Watching as poor Mr. Peglar lay Shivering and Dying? Enjoying itself? Had Harry Peglar’s last shivering Image on this Earth been of that White Monstrosity looming over him, its black, unblinking Eyes watching? Why had the thing not eaten our Friend?

The Beast was on two legs the entire time it was on the floe, was all that Captain Crozier said.

Other men from the Boats came forward with a piece of Canvas.

There was no exit from the Lake in the Ice except for the Rapidly Closing Lead from which we had come. Two circumnavigations of the Body of Open Water – five Boats rowing clockwise, four Boats rowing antiwiggens – offered the Discovery of only inlets, Ruptures in the Ice, and two more Bloody Swaths where it looked as if one of our reconnaissance whaleboat’s crew pulled himself onto the ice and ran but was Cruelly Intercepted and pulled back. There were, thank God, shards of blue Wool but no more remains to be found.

It was early Afternoon by then, and to a Man I am sure that we had but one Wish – to be Away from that accursed Place. But we had three bodies of our Shipmates – or Parts of Same – and we felt the Need to Dispose of them in an Honourable way. (Many of us assumed, I Believe, and rightly so as it turned out, that these would be the last Formal Burial Services the reduced Remnants of our Expedition would have the luxury to perform.)

No useful Detritus was found floating in the ice lake save for an Expanse of Soaked Canvas from one of the Holland Tents that had been aboard Lieutenant Little’s doomed whaleboat. This was used to Inter the body of our friend Harry Peglar. The partial Skeletal remains I had investigated near the Lead opening were left in the canvas Shot Bag. Mr. Reid’s torso was sewn into an extra blanket sleeping bag.

It is Custom at Burial at Sea for one or more pieces of Round Shot to be placed at the Foot of the man being Committed to the Deep, ensuring that the body will sink with Dignity rather than float Embarrassingly, but of course we had no Round Shot this day. The seamen scrounged a Grapple from the floating Bow of The Lady J. Franklin and some metal from the last of the empty Goldner food tins to Weigh Down the various shrouds.

It took some time to pull the Nine Remaining Boats from the black water and reset the cutters and pinnaces onto Sledges. The Assembly of these Sledges and the lifting of the Boats onto them, with its concomitant Packing and Unpacking of stores, drained the skeletal crewmen of the last of their energy. Then the Seamen gathered near the edge of the Ice, standing in a broad Crescent so as not to put too much Weight on any one part of the Ice Shelf.

No one was in the mood for a Long Service and certainly not for the Previously Appreciated Irony of Captain Crozier’s fabled Book of Leviathan, so it was with some Surprise and not a small bit of Emotion that we listened to the Captain recite from Memory Psalm 90:

LORD, thou hast been our refuge: from one generation to another.

Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made: thou art God from everlasting, and world without end.

Thou turnest man to destruction: again thou sayest, Come again, ye children of men.

For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday: seeing that is past as a watch in the night.

As soon as thou scatterest them, they are even as a sleep: and fade away suddenly like the grass.

In the morning it is green, and groweth up: but in the evening it is cut down, dried up, and withered.

For we consume away in thy displeasure: and are afraid at thy wrathful indignation.

Thou has set our misdeeds before thee: and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

For when thou art angry all our days are gone: we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told.

The days of our age are three-score years and ten; and though men be strong that they come to fourscore years: yet is their strength then but labour and sorrow; so soon passeth it away, and we are gone.

But who regardeth the power of thy wrath: for even thereafter as a man feareth, so is thy displeasure.

So teach us to number our days: that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

Turn thee again, O Lord, at the last: and be gracious unto thy servants.

O satisfy us with thy mercy, and that soon: so shall we rejoice and be glad all the days of our life.

Comfort us again now after the time that thou has plagued us: and for the years wherein we have suffered adversity.

Shew thy servants thy work, and their children thy glory.

And the glorious Majesty of the Lord our God be upon us: prosper thou the work of our hands upon us, O prosper thou our handy-work.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.

And all of us shivering survivors spake, Amen.

There was a Silence then. The snow blew softly against Us. The black water lapped with a Hungry Sound. The ice Groaned and Shifted slightly beneath our feet.

All of us, I believe, were Thinking that these words were a Eulogy and Farewell for each one of us. Up until this Day and the loss of Lieutenant Little’s boat with all his men – including the irreplaceable Mr. Reid and the universally liked Mr. Peglar – I suspect that many of us still thought that we might Live. Now we knew that the odds of that had all but Disappeared.

The long awaited and Universally Cheered Open Water was a vicious Trap.

The Ice will not give us up.

And the creature from the ice will not allow us to leave.

Bosun Johnson called, Ship’s Company – OFF hats! We tugged off our motley and filthy head coverings.

Know that our Redeemer liveth, said Captain Crozier in that Husky Rasp that now passed for his voice. And that he shalt stand at the Latter Day upon the Earth. And though after our sin Worms destroy our bodies, yet in our flesh shall we see God: whom we shall see for ourselves, and our eyes shall behold, and not another.

O Lord, accept your Humble Servants here Ice Master James Reid, Captain of the Foretop Harry Peglar, and their Unknown Crewmate into your Kingdom, and with the two we can Name, please accept the Souls of Lieutenant Edward Little, Seaman Alexander Berry, Seaman Henry Sait, Seaman William Wentzall, Seaman Samuel Crispe, Seaman John Bates, and Seaman David Sims.

When our day comes to join Them, Lord, please allow us to join them in Thy Kingdom.

Hear our prayer, O Lord, for our Shipmates and Our Selves and for all Our Souls. And with thine ears consider our calling: hold not thy peace at our tears. Spare us a little, that we may recover our strength; before we also go hence and be no more.

Amen.

Amen, we all whispered.

The bosuns lifted the canvas Burial Shrouds and dropped them into the black water, where they Sank within Seconds. White bubbles rose like Final Efforts to Speak from our departed Shipmates, then the surface of the lake grew Black and Still again.

Sergeant Tozer and two Marines fired a single volley from their muskets.

I saw Captain Crozier stare at the black lake with an expression rich with suppressed Emotions. We will go now, he said Firmly to us, to all of us, to this slumped and sad and Mentally Defeated party. We can haul those sledges and boats a Mile before it is time to sleep. We will head Southeast toward the mouth of Back’s River. The going will be Easier out here on the ice.

As it turned out, the going was much Harder on the ice. In the End, it was Impossible, not because of the usual Pressure Ridges and anticipated Difficulty transporting the boats, although that was Increasingly Problematic because of our Hunger, Illness, and Weakness, but because of the Breaking Ice and the Thing in the Water.

Moving in Relays as Usual but with Nine Fewer Men on our Expedition Muster that Long Arctic Evening of 10 July, we Progressed much less than a Mile before stopping to pitch tents on the Ice and to Sleep at last.

That sleep was Interrupted less than Two Hours later when the Ice suddenly began to crack and shift. The entire mass bobbed up and down. It was a most Disquieting Experience and we all scrambled to the exits of our Respective Tents and milled in some Confusion. Seamen began to strike the tents and make ready to pack the Boats until Captain Crozier, Mr. Couch, and First Mate Des Voeux shouted them into stillness. The officers pointed out that there were no signs of cracks in the ice near us, only this Movement.

After fifteen minutes or so of this, the ice Quieted until the Surface of the Frozen Sea under us once again felt as firm as Stone. We crawled back into our tents.

An hour later, the Bobbing and Cracking began again. Many of us repeated our earlier rush out into the Blowing Wind and dark, but the Braver Seamen stayed in their sleeping bags. Those of us who had Taken Fright crawled back into the Ill-Smelling and Crowded little tents – filled as they were with Snores, Sleeping Exhalations, Overlapping Bodies in Wet Bags, and the Ripeness of men who had not changed their Clothes in several months – with abashed countenances. Fortunately, it was too Dark for anyone to notice.

All that next day we struggled to haul the Boats forward to the Southeast across a Surface no more solid than a tightly drawn skin of India Rubber. Cracks were appearing – some showing six feet thickness of ice and more between the Surface and the Sea – but our sense of crossing a Plain of Ice had disappeared, replaced with the Reality of moving from Floe to Floe on an Undulating ocean of white.

I should Record here that on that Second Evening after we left the Enclosed Ice Lake, I was catching up with my Duty of going through the Dead Men’s personal belongings, most of which had been Left Behind in our General Stores when Lieutenant Little’s reconnaissance group left in their whaleboat, and had come to Captain of the Foretop Peglar’s small pack containing a few scraps of Clothes, some Letters, a few personal items such as a Horn Comb, and several Books, when my Assistant, John Bridgens, said, Might I have a few of those things, Dr. Goodsir?

I was surprised. Bridgens was indicating the Comb and a thick Leather Notebook.

I had looked into the Notebook already. Peglar had written in a crude sort of Code – spelling words in Reverse, Capitalizing the last letter of the last word in each Sentence as if it were the first – but while the Summary of the last Year of our Expedition might have held some Interest for a Relative, Both the foretop captain’s handwriting and sentence Structure, not to mention his spelling, had grown more Laboured and Crude in the Months immediately before and after our Abandoning of the Ships until it had all but disintegrated. One entry read, O Death whare is thy sting, the grave at Comfort Cove for who has any doubt how … [an illegible line here where the book had been Damaged by water]… the dyer sad…

On the back side of that sheet, I had noticed where Peglar had drawn a shaky circle and in that circle had written, the terror camp clear. The date had been illegible, but it must have been around 25 April. Another page nearby included such fragments as Has we have got some very hard ground to heave… we shall want some grog to wet houer… issel… all my art Tom for I do think… time… I cloze should lay and… the 21st night a gread.

I had Assumed upon Seeing this that Peglar had recorded that Entry on the Evening of 21 April when Captain Crozier had told the Assembled Crews of Terror and Erebus that the last of them would be Abandoning Ship the next morning.

These were, in other Words, the scribblings of a semiliterate Man and no Proud Reflection on the learning or Skill of Harry Peglar.

Why do you want these? I asked Bridgens. Was Peglar a friend of yours?

Aye, Doctor.

You require a Comb? The old Steward was almost bald.

No, Doctor, just a Remembrance of the man. That and his Journal will serve.

Very strange, I thought, since everyone was lightening their Loads at this point, not adding Heavy Books to what they had to Haul.

But I gave Bridgens the Comb and Journal. No one needed Peglar’s remaining Shirt or Socks or Extra Wool Trousers or Bible, so I left them on the Pile of discarded items the next morning. All in all, the Abandoned Final Possessions of Peglar, Little, Reid, Berry, Crispe, Bates, Sims, Wentzall, and Sait made for a sad little Cairn of Mortality.

That next morning, 12 July, we started coming Across more Bloody Patches in the Ice. At first the Men were Terrified that these were More signs of our Mates, but Captain Crozier led us to the Great Stained Areas and showed us that in the Centre of the Great Starbust of Crimson was the Carcass of a White Bear. They were all Murdered Polar White Bears, these Bloodstained areas, often with little More than a shattered Head, Great Bloodied White Pelt, Cracked Bones, and Paws left behind.

At first the men were Reassured. Then, of course, the Obvious Question set in - what was killing these Huge Predators just Hours before our Arrival?

The answer was Obvious.

But why was it slaughtering the White Bears? That answer was also Obvious: to deprive us of any possible Food Source.

By 16 July, the men seemed Incapable of going farther. In an 18-hour Day of Incessant Pulling, we would cover less than a Mile across the Ice. Often we could see the previous night’s Pile of Discarded Clothing and Gear when we camped the Next Evening. We had found more Slaughtered White Bears. Morale was so low that if we had taken a Vote that Week, the Majority might have voted to Give Up, Lie Down, and Die.

That night of 16 July, as Others Slept and only One Man stood Watch, Captain Crozier asked me to come to his Tent. He now slept in the same Tent with Charles Des Voeux; his purser, Charles Hamilton Osmer (who was showing signs of pneumonia); William Bell (Erebus’s quartermaster); and Phillip Reddington, Sir John’s and Captain Fitzjames’s former captain of the fo’c’sle.

The captain nodded and everyone except First Mate Des Voeux and Mr. Osmer left the tent to give us Privacy.

Dr. Goodsir, began the Captain, I need your advice.

I Nodded and Listened.

We have adequate Clothing and Shelter, said Captain Crozier. The extra boots I Had the Men Haul along in the Supply Pinnaces have saved Many Feet from Amputation.

I agree, Sir, I said, although I knew this was not the Item upon which he was asking for Advice.

Tomorrow morning I am going to tell the Men that we shall be Leaving One of the Whaleboats and two Cutters and one Pinnace behind and will be Continuing on only with the Five Remaining Boats, said Captain Crozier. Those two whaleboats, two cutters, and final pinnace are in the Best Condition and should suffice for Open Water, should we Encounter Any before the Mouth of Back’s River, since our Stores are so Reduced.

The Men will be Heartily Glad to hear this, Captain, I said. I certainly was. Since I now helped Man-haul the boats, the Knowledge that the days of Accursed Relaying were over quite Literally took some of the Ache from my shoulders and back.

What I need to Know, Dr. Goodsir, continued the Captain, his voice an Exhausted Rasp, his face Solemn, is whether I can cut back on the Men’s Rations. Or rather, when we Do cut back, will the Men still be Capable of hauling the Sledges? I need your Professional Opinion, Doctor.

I looked at the floor of the Tent. One of Mr. Diggle’s Hoosh Pans – or perhaps Mr. Wall’s Portable Contraption for Heating Tea back when we had bottles of Ether left for the Spirit Stoves – had burned a Round Hole there.

Captain, Mr. Des Voeux, I said finally, knowing that I would be Stating the Obvious to them, the men do not have enough Nourishment now to meet the Requirements of their Daily Labours. I took a breath.

Everything they eat is Cold. The last of the Canned Foods was Consumed many Weeks ago. The Spirit Stoves and Spirit Lamps was left on the Ice with the Last Empty Bottle of Pyroligneous Ether.

This evening at Supper each man will get one Ship’s Biscuit, a sliver of Cold Salt Pork, one Ounce of chocolate, a Palm Full of Tea, less than a Spoonful of Sugar, and his Daily Tablespoon of Rum.

And his Bit of Tobacco that we’d hoarded for them, added Mr. Osmer.

I nodded. Yes, and his bit of tobacco. And they do love their tobacco. That was a brilliant stroke to keep some hidden in the Stores. But no, Captain, I cannot say that the Men can get by on less than the Current Inadequate Amount of Food.

They must, said Captain Crozier. We shall be out of the salt pork in six days. Out of the Rum in ten.

Mr. Des Voeux cleared his throat. Everything depends upon us Finding and Shooting more seals on the Floes.

So far, I knew – everyone in the Tent knew, everyone on the Expedition knew – we had shot and Enjoyed precisely 2 Seals since leaving Comfort Cove two Months earlier.

I am thinking, said Captain Crozier, that heading North again for the Shore of King William Land – perhaps Three Days’ pull, perhaps Four – might be Best. It is possible to eat Moss and Rock Tripe. I am told that the proper Varieties cook up into an Almost Palatable soup. If one can find the proper Varieties of Moss and Rock Tripe.

Sir John Franklin, I thought in my weariness. The Man Who Ate His Shoes. My older Brother had told me That Story in the Months before our Departure. Sir John would have known, from Pathetic Experience, precisely which Moss and Rock Tripe to choose.

The Men will be happy to get off the Ice, Captain, was all that I could Say. And they will be Overjoyed to Hear that we shall be Hauling Fewer boats.

Thank you, Doctor, said Captain Crozier. That is all.

I bobbed my head in a pathetic Sort of Salute, left, made the rounds of the worst Scurvy victims in their Tents – we no Longer Have a Sick Bay Tent, of course, and Bridgens and I nightly go from tent to tent to counsel and Dose our Patients – and then I staggered back to my own Tent (shared with Bridgens, the unconscious Davy Leys, the dying Engineer, Thompson, and the seriously ill carpenter, Mr. Honey), and fell Instantly Asleep.

That was the night that the Ice opened and swallowed up the Holland Tent in which Slept our Five Marines – Sergeant Tozer, Corporal Hedges, Private Wilkes, Private Hammond, and Private Daly.

Only Wilkes got out of the Tent before it Sank into the Wine-Dark Sea, and he was pulled from the Ice Crevice seconds before it Closed with a Deafening Crash.

But Wilkes was too Chilled, too Ill, and too Terrified to Recover, even when Bridgens and I wrapped him in the Last Dry Clothes in our Reserve and put him Between us in our Sleeping Bag. He died just before real Sunrise.

His Body was left behind on the Ice the next morning along with more Clothes and the Four Discarded Boats and their Sledges.

There was no Burial Service for him or the other Marines.

There was no Hurrah when the Captain announced that the four Sledges and Boats would no longer be hauled.

We turned North toward Land just over the Horizon. No retreat from Moscow ever felt such a sense of Defeat.

Three Hours Later, the Ice Cracked Again, and we were faced with Leads and Lakes to the North which were too small to justify launching the boats yet too large to allow us to haul the boats and sledges across.